Tommy, softening O-liver’s words a bit, gave
them in the form of advice to Jane: “He
thinks you’d better live on leeks and lettuce
than go down-town like that.”

Jane gasped. “Leeks and lettuce? Me?
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!
And anyhow, what can you expect of a man like that?”

III

A week later Jane in a white shirt-waist and white
apron came down with her white-covered basket into
the glare of the town’s white lights. The
night was warm and she wore no hat. Her red hair
was swept back from her forehead with a droop over
the ears. She had white skin and strong white
teeth. Her eyes were as gray as the sea on stormy
days. Tommy came after her with a wooden box,
which he set on end, and she placed her basket on
it. The principal stores of the small town, the
one hotel and the post-office were connected by a
covered walk which formed a sort of arcade, so that
the men lounging against doorways or tip-tilted in
chairs seemed in a sort of gallery from which they
surveyed the Saturday-night crowd which paraded the
street.

Jane folded up the cloth which covered her basket
and displayed her wares. “Don’t stick
round, Tommy,” she said. “I shall
do better alone.”

But as she raised her head and saw the eyes of the
men upon her a rich color surged into her cheeks.

She put out her little sign bravely:

HOME-MADE SANDWICHES—­TWENTY
CENTS

With a sense of adventure upon them the men flocked
down at once. They bought at first because the
wares were offered by a pretty girl. They came
back to buy because never had there been such sandwiches.